


I'd love just once to see you

by distractionpie



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artists, M/M, Nude Modeling, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: David's not an artist, he's just here to support a friend. It really isn't fair that he has to deal with somebody that hot being naked and laughing at him.





	I'd love just once to see you

**Author's Note:**

> totally unedited/proofread - i wrote this on a whim while i was on a six hour train ride this afternoon/evening and just decided to slap it up as is  
> I know nothing about art and haven't personally been in an art class since I finally aged out of mandatory school ones, I just made this up based on tv and things i've heard from other people
> 
>  
> 
> Title from The Beach Boys - I'd Love Just Once To See You

As a rule, David prefers viewing art to creating it. His pen is better suited to words than images, but when Pat had signed up for an evening art class, it had been Webster whom he'd targeted to keep him company. 

He protests a little, he doesn't really want to go to an art class when he has no interest in being an artist. He'd consider his drawing skills adequate. He can create recognisable images of whatever his subject is, but while he'd always been gifted in observing the fine details, they never translate onto the page quite as well as he'd like. Still, Pat had kept at him about how it was always useful to keep what skill he had properly maintained and pick up new tips, and when Webster had still resisted, been honest enough to admit that he mostly just didn't want to go without a friend. 

And that David could understand entirely. 

They're on week six of ten, and although he'd never consider himself an artist he's not the worst in the class either. He doubts he'll be rushing to re-enrol for the next course of lessons or the advanced class, but he can admit that he'd been enjoying the course well enough. 

The class is at the local community college in a large room with mirrors on every wall to allow the fullest viewings of the subject material (and, Pat had whispered, so the instructor might be able to see the reflection of Webster's sketchbook and know if he was doodling instead of drawing what they were instructed to). 

When they arrive there's a stranger in the room talking with the instructor, definitely not one of the students – David has learned all of their faces by now. He’s lithe and casually dressed, just a t-shirt and sweatpants, with dark, tousled hair.

"Who do you think he is?" Webster whispers to Pat as they claim their usual tables in the circle around the room. There's a small part of Webster's mind that bristles at them being seated in anything other than neat rows, but he knows that the circle makes sense for the type of class they're in. 

"Oh, I forgot," Pat says, sounding suddenly excited. "The syllabus said we'd have a model in this week. I've missed proper figure drawing, it's just not that same working from a photo." 

"Figure drawing like..."

Before David can finish his sentence, the newcomer is pulling his t-shirt over his head and confirming David’s concerns. Figure drawing like nudes.

He really should have read the syllabus.

It’s too late now, so he just stares fixedly at the instructor as she explains that they’re being given the opportunity to conduct ten minute studies on three different poses and that as per usual she won’t be assessing their work but they’re welcome to ask her for advice or feedback throughout the lesson.

Now undressed, and making no attempt to cover himself, the model lays down on the raised bench, arms folded behind his head. He looks at ease, and David can't begin to imagine being so confident. He considered himself appropriately at ease with his body -he's attractive, he knows that- but he’s far from flawless and there's something he finds terribly vulnerable about exposing himself even to a trusted partner. The model, on the other hand, seems absolutely unconcerned about his nudity. Not just fearless, but like the possibility of fear has never occurred to him 

The instructor starts the timer and David bites his lip and draws in a slow, deep breath. He is a man of the world, he reminds himself, not an easily flustered schoolboy. There was plenty of nudity in classical art, and a good grasp of anatomy was no doubt useful for drawing figures in any state of dress. 

It was not sexual, it was just a body and everybody in the room had one - this was about learning. But, oh, David couldn't help but wish that a plainer looking model had been booked. 

He draws from stolen glances, only looking up at the model for a second or two at a time, and he knows it must show in his work. Still, it was hardly like anything he could have drawn would do the man in front of him justice. The human form is rather outside the range of David’s limited talent and experience. He could do respectable enough technical diagram or still-life, but capturing a human being was far more complex, both in structure and in attempting to maintain a sense of being alive.   

In the centre of the room, the model shifts slightly, back arching as if to alleviate some discomfort, and David drops his pencil. It rolls across the floor, coming to a stop under Pat's chair, and David has never been more relieved to carry spares because the thought of drawing attention to himself by getting up to retrieve it is enough to curdle his blood. Pat glances across at him with raised eyebrows, but David turns back, leaning his head close to the sketchpad in an attempt to avoid acknowledging the look. 

He has a passable sketch finished by the time the instructor calls time, although David has no intention of asking her for any sort of feedback on it. Instead he busies himself sharpening his pencils as the model stretches and converses with the instructor until it’s time to begin the second pose.

If he’d thought the first pose was bad, this is impossibly worse.  He's quite certain that if he looks at the man for any longer than that he'd going to spontaneously combust. The model is sitting upright on the bench, facing away from David’s side of the room, but David’s hopes that not being able to see the man’s face would ease the process are abruptly dashed the moment he looks up.

He doesn't think he's ever seen a sight so beautiful, the faint swell of muscle to his shoulders, a scattering of moles across his upper back that David wants to memorise. His eyes drift down the ridge of his spine and the part of David that is trying to remain focused takes in the elegant line of his shoulder blades and the shape of his narrow waist, but instead of studying them his gaze is drawn inexorably onward to the dimples in his lower back and then... He’s leaning forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees and all well as the planes of his back David’s eyes keep wandering down to the slight curve and cleft of his ass. Not that David is letting himself be distracted. No, he’s decided to largely discard the assignment, focusing on trying to keep his gaze high, and therefore what little drawing he’s managed it all of the back of the model’s head.

The truth is he’s barely progressing and his gaze starts to drift sideways, until he’s started by a snap of a pencil somewhere off to his left, and as he jerks his eyes back he inadvertently makes fleeting but certain eye contact with the model via the mirror and nearly chokes on his own tongue.

All he manages after that are scribbles, formless attempts to look busy as he keeps his head down and tries to remind himself that he is an adult and it’s utterly inappropriate for him to be reacting like this.

David has seen attractive men before, seen them in more compromising positions that any of the casual ones held by the model, “Liebgott,” the instructor calls him as she explains the final pose of the class, but there’s something about his irregular sort of beauty that means that even though he should probably just keep his head down and wait for the class to end David can’t help but look up once more.

Liebgott is facing David’s side of the room this time, and now David can see clearly that he’s observing the students as much as they’re watching him. He tries to keep his gaze comfortably above the defined jut of Liebgott’s collarbones as he sketches out a generic male form.

Unfortunately keeping his eyes on Liebgott’s face means that when Liebgott’s glances around the room drift in his direction, instead of bouncing right over David, their eyes meet. David quickly ducks his head, shutting his eyes until he’s firmly facing his paper. He can feel his cheeks heating and knows from painful experience that his face must be turning bright red.

The next time he looks up, Liebgott catches his eye again, he’s clearly been waiting, and one corner of his mouth quirks upward ever so slightly. It's the smallest slip of his statue like stillness, but it's enough that David knows the man is laughing at him, though he's too professional to show it.

His mouth feels dry, and he licks his lips,  then leans over and says to Pat in a too loud whisper, “I’m going to step outside, I think I have toothache.” He’s cringing at the words almost as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He  _ thinks  _ he has toothache? How is anybody supposed to believe something he can’t even pretend he believes himself. 

It’s not at he really expected anybody to fall for his excuse, it's painfully obvious he's excusing himself because of his desire and lack of self-control, but a modicum of plausible deniability would have been nice. An artist shouldn't react like that, but David is not and has never claimed to be an artist, and he knows when to quit. 

He ignores the judgement he knows he’s getting as he scoops up his things and tries to exit the room without making eye contact with any of his classmates. The quiet thud of the door swinging shut behind him in an immense relief.

There’s a breeze running through the corridor that does a little to cool his heated blood, a window must be left open somewhere near, and at the end of the hall there’s a fountain.

He splashes the icy water on his face, inadvertently dampening a small patch of his hair, but that’s the least of his concerns. At least it clears his head a little. There’s ten minutes left of the class and, as David rests his forehead against the cool tile of the wall beside the fountain, he knows he’s going to spend all of it berating himself.

He’s not keeping close track of time, but he knows when the class ends up the sudden uptick of noise. Just moments after the chatter starts he hears the classroom door swing open and soft footsteps approaching him.

He turns, expecting to be met with Pat laughing at him, but instead it’s the model - Liebgott. 

He's pulled the robe back on though it's distressingly short, stopping at mid-thigh and only loosely belted, and is eyeing David with a look that makes him feel more like prey than the great whites ever did.

“How’s your toothache?” he says with a smirk that’s downright wicked.

David only manages to stammer, mouth suddenly dry again.

Liebgott laughs. “Well at least you didn’t try for the ‘is it me or is it getting hot in here?’ excuse.”

“Jesus...” Well, it’s nice to know he only said the second worst thing possible. “Still, I didn’t manage much better.”

"Don't worry about it," Liebgott says, "Most artists have gotten used to working with live models by the time they reach this level, but I've worked with enough beginner classes to get used to people who still get embarrassed by bodies." 

Embarrassment had certainly factored into it, but it hadn't been the real source of David's discomfort. Still, Liebgott doesn't need to know that. "I'm not an artist, I'm just here because my friend didn't want to come alone and he saw some of my field sketches and thought I was a good pick, but that's not art it's diagrams," he explains. 

"Field sketches?" Liebgott asks, "What do you usually draw?" 

"Sharks," David says, "But I study social behaviour not anatomy, so there's rarely drawing except for the occasional reference diagrams." His sketchbook is hidden away inside his bag and he hopes that Liebgott won't be curious, not when he must have been drawn by far better artists than those of an intermediate evening class, but David wants to dissuade him further still, since he's embarrassed enough without the situation being compounded by Liebgott finding out David spent far more time ogling than actually putting pencil to paper. 

Liebgott's eyebrows have shot up. "Huh," he says. "I'd have thought sharks would be a far more unnerving set of models to work with."

“Why would they be?” David says, thrown. “Sharks aren’t going to judge me.”

“Sharks have opinions?”

“There are plenty of intelligent and social species of shark,” David points out. “Of course they have opinions.”

“Okay...” Liebgott doesn’t look like he really believes David, but David is used to dealing with people who’ve been fed misinformation about sharks their whole lives. “Well, you’re sort of right - honestly it was kind of a relief when you left."

"Oh." Oh god, had David been making him that uncomfortable? He'd known that excusing himself would reveal his situation but he'd thought, or at least hoped, that he'd been effective in not drawing too much attention to his plight before that. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." 

"It’s fine," Liebgott says. "I just kept catching sight of you in the mirrors, but I'm a professional and that means staying, y'know, calm, which ain't exactly easy with you making eyes at me like that." 

Making eyes? David can feel his cheeks start to heat again. Had he been  _ that  _ obvious? 

"Oh yeah, the blushing too,” Liebgott adds with a beleaguered sigh. “Especially once it started hitting your neck, I mean, how far down does that go?" 

Instinctively, David brings a hand up up to the collar of his shirt, before realising how pointless the gesture is.

“Cute,” Liebgott says in an undertone, like it might not have been meant for David’s ears. “Anyway,   _ I  _ am an artist," he says, pulling -of all things- a business card from the pocket of his robe. "And I'm always looking for beauty to draw. In case you'd feel better about seeing me naked if you returned the favour or if you'd like to see what it's like from the other side." He winks as he hands the card over. 

He takes the card on instinct and then looks down at it, biting his lip. There’s no way he’s taking Liebgott up on that offer, just thinking about allowing himself to be scrutinised like that makes David’s skin crawl a little, so maybe he should just say no now, it would be wrong to take the card just because he wants to have Liebgott’s number.

Before he can say anything though, Liebgott continues, “Hell, I’d draw you with your clothes on. Just relaxing or getting coffee or something. It’d be fun.”

“Coffee sounds nice,” David manages, and Liebgott grins.

“So call me,” he says, “Anytime.”

 


End file.
